Hath opened an asylum, of which kings
Hold not the key--where even crimes are purged
Beneath the holy sacramental seal.
You know my meaning, prince--I've said enough.

CARLOS.
No! be it, never said, I tempted so
The keeper of that seal.

DOMINGO.
Prince, this mistrust--
You wrong the most devoted of your servants.

CARLOS.
Then give me up at once without a thought
Thou art a holy man--the world knows that--
But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me.
The road to Peter's chair is long and rough,
And too much knowledge might encumber you.
Go, tell this to the king, who sent thee hither!

DOMINGO.
Who sent me hither?

CARLOS. Ay! Those were my words.
Too well-too well, I know, that I'm betrayed,
Slandered on every hand--that at this court
A hundred eyes are hired to watch my steps.
I know, that royal Philip to his slaves
Hath sold his only son, and every wretch,